


Cast Into the Sky

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-20
Updated: 2007-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta by decor_noctis.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cast Into the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by decor_noctis.

The covers band who were playing this party were okay, Tyson noticed as he tried out the punch. (A little too peachy for his taste.) They'd started on their last song just when Harry had come over to tell him he didn't need to man the door any more, so Ty had only caught the tail end of them actually playing; he'd heard the rest, moving a little to the beat as he stood by the front door, and they weren't bad. The drummer, he couldn't help noticing, was kind of cute, in that long-haired, sweet-smile sort of a way.

He wandered past a few groups of people, but he didn't know anybody but Harry, who was now busy macking on some chick in the corner, and they were all in clumps with their backs to the rest of the room. The band, however, had set down their instruments; the singer did something with the stereo and music filled the room once more, a bit too loud until the guy turned it down, and the rest of them were just talking. Unlike every other clump there, however, their body language did not scream 'exclusive group, no outsiders', so Tyson went over.

"Yeah, so Sindy was like, What are you doing here _with her_?, and I was like, Nothing!, but she didn't believe me," one of the guitarists was saying. "So she dumped me."

"Dude, that sucks," another of them sympathised.

Tyson sidled up to the drummer. "Are these guys boring you?" he asked, half a grin in place. "Why don't you come talk to me instead? I'm from a different planet."

The drummer laughed.

"Seriously!" Tyson moved so he was properly facing the guy, gesturing sincerely. "Wanna see my spaceship?"

He looked at him, amused. "Hitch-hikers' Guide, right?" he asked. His voice had definitely broken. Tyson swallowed, and grinned fully.

"You got the quote," he said. "That means I get you a drink."

The guy laughed. "Okay then," he said. "And I'm Nick, by the way."

"Um. I'm Tyson. Want some punch?"

"Is there anything else?" Nick asked, looking over his shoulder at the drinks table.

"I guess, but uh, Harry told everybody only to give me punch." Tyson rolled his eyes. "Just because I'm thirteen or whatever," he huffed.

Nick's eyebrows rose. "You're thirteen? Huh. You don't look it."

"What, why, how old are you?" Tyson forced himself not to fold his arms.

"Fifteen, dude, it's okay. I was just surprised, is all." Nick smiled. "I could get _you_ a drink."

Tyson slung one arm over Nick's shoulders. "I like you already," he beamed. "Did you know," he continued as Nick led him to the drinks table, "I can play bass. I just, y'know, noticed you guys didn't have anybody for that, and hey, if you needed someone – I'm available."

"Yeah, everyone else is like, I'll play guitar!, so I said I'd do drums," Nick nodded. "I mostly play guitar, though. I teach kids and stuff. But yeah, we could do with a bass player, I'll talk to the guys."

Tyson blinked. "Um. Okay." _Shit, now I have to learn fucking bass._

"So what do you want?" Nick looked at the array of bottles on the table. Tyson grinned at him.

"I want whatever you'll give me, Nick," he said, and Nick laughed. (Correct reaction. _I could get on with this dude, like, a lot_.)

The living room was full when Tyson got home that night. "Dad, hey Dad," he called, "Dad!"

"Ty!" Tim held up his beer bottle in delight. "Here's my boy. How was the party?"

"It was good, it was good." Tyson made his way over, stepping around legs and bottles and empty cans. "Hey Dad, can I have a bass guitar for Christmas?"

Tim laughed. "What do you want one of those for, son?"

"Well, I want to learn to _play_ it."

Tim made a dismissive gesture. "Who have you been talking to? Bass guitar." He chuckled, loud. Tyson sighed.

"Seriously, Dad, I want to learn. Can I?"

Tim squinted at him. "I'll think about it."

"Alright." Tyson deflated. 'I'll think about it' usually meant 'no'. "Well, goodnight, Dad."

"You going to bed?"

"Yeah." Tyson was already half way across the room, but Tim stood and struggled over to him to give him an awkward half-hug.

"G'night, son."

Tyson nodded, and made his way upstairs to stare at the patterns the shadows of the trees made on his ceiling. After half an hour, he turned to face the wall and closed his eyes, the sounds from downstairs still floating through on the night air.

Tyson was on his way home from football practice a week later, taking a short cut behind some houses, when he saw Nick walking out of the back door of one of them. "See you next week, Robert," he was calling over his shoulder, and Tyson shifted his sports bag to his other arm as Nick spotted him. "Hey!" he said, jogging over. "It's Tyson, right? From the party last week?"

"Yeah - you're Nick," and as soon as the words left his mouth he wished he'd made it sound like a question, not like he'd remembered their entire conversation and thought about him in the interim, or anything. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good, just finished a lesson." He jerked a thumb at the house he had emerged from. "I was heading home."

"Me too. You wanna walk?"

"Okay." Nick fell into step with him, and Tyson immediately couldn't think of a thing to say. "Where do you live?" Nick asked at last, breaking the silence.

"Just up, uh, up here with my dad." He pointed. "Through there, and up that road, two lefts and half a block and I'm there. What about you?"

"Over that way," Nick pointed in the opposite direction. "You know the, uh, the florist, with the petals and stuff above the window?"

"You live near there?"

"I live _there_. It's my parents' store."

"Oh. Yeah, my uh, my dad went there a lot right before the divorce. Always said it was nice in there."

"Your parents are divorced?" Nick asked. They reached the road where their directions home parted, so they stopped.

"Yeah, when I was six. I live with my dad right now, Mom and my stepdad are like, five miles away. They got a kid, my baby sister." _Is there a cure for verbal diahorrea? Because damn._

Nick nodded at the ground, pushing a stone with his toe. He pushed it to the left, scraped it back right again, then kicked it away. "Want to come over, hang out for a while? You could show me what you know on the bass, I have one."

"Uh." Tyson swallowed. "I'd, uh. See, okay, the thing is, okay," and he looked away, squinted into the sun, "the thing is." He took a deep breath and said, in a rush, eyes fixed on the open shutters of a house a little way down the other side of the street to Nick, "I kind of can't play bass, I've never tried."

"Oh." Nick didn't sound mad, so Tyson risked a glance at him. He was just giving him a puzzled look, head tilted. "Why did you say you could?"

"I don't know," Tyson shrugged, a slightly desperate gesture. "I guess I -" He kicked at a different stone, sending it skitting across to land next to the one Nick had kicked. "I just wanted you to talk to me, I guess, and it kind of – came out."

"Oh." Nick nodded, looking at the ground again, and then looked up. "Want me to teach you?"

Tyson forgot not to stare at him, for a moment. "You – you'd teach me?"

"Well sure, it's what I do," Nick shrugged. "You wouldn't have to pay me or nothin', friend's rate."

"Friend's rate is free?" Tyson smiled. He paused. "Wait – I'm a friend?"

Nick was looking at the stones they'd kicked, but his voice was light. "Sure, yeah, if you want."

"That'd be cool," Tyson nodded, and instantly wished for the ground to open up, or to suddenly develop the ability to go back in time and not say completely lame things to cute guys who maybe want to hang out with you, or something. "Yeah, sure, I'd – I'd like that."

"Awesome. Well, you want to – I mean, are you free now? Your dad expecting you or something?"

"Yeah – no, I mean, I'm free, Dad's out at work, so. Just as long as I don't leave my football stuff at your place," he added as they set off. "Don't let me forget that."

Nick smiled at him, and Tyson tried to ignore the way it made his chest kind of squeeze a little. "I won't."

Tyson didn't say anything else as they walked, just every now and then glanced up at Nick, who was smiling at his own knees. When they got to the florist, Nick pushed the door open and the bell dinged.

"Hey Mom," he called. "This is Tyson, he's a buddy of mine. We're gonna go hang out, play guitar, okay?"

"Don't be too loud, I might have customers," Nick's mother smiled as they ducked behind the counter. "Hello Tyson," she said.

"Hi," he waved a little, awkward.

"Will you boys need anything to eat?" she called after them as Nick led him past the store room and to the stairs.

"No Ma, we're good," Nick called back, rolling his eyes. He headed up the stairs ahead of Tyson, and half way up he turned back and asked, "Oh wait, are you hungry?"

"No, no, I'm okay," Tyson nodded, annoyingly aware of both his entire body and the way he had just kind of contradicted what he said with the nodding, but Nick got it and carried on up the stairs. Tyson was too preoccupied with where to put his hands and making sure his breathing wasn't too loud to stop himself watching the way Nick's ass moved. _Oh shit_, he thought, concisely.

"Bathroom's that one," Nick pointed to the door on their right as they reached the top of the stairs, "den, kitchen, parents, sister," he pointed to each of the doors as they passed, "and this one's my room." He pushed that door open.

The walls were lined with posters; Def Leppard, Queen, Bon Jovi, Kansas, Iron Maiden, and a huge, long poster that looked like several printed sheets sellotaped together, of the entire cast of The Muppet Show. "You like the Muppets, huh?" Tyson went over to examine it.

"Yeah, they're pretty awesome," Nick nodded, without even a trace of irony. Tyson had to turn back to the poster to stop anything showing on his face. "So Tyson, have you ever played a guitar before?"

"Um." Tyson picked at his jeans. "No."

"Okay," Nick was sitting on the bed when Tyson looked up, patting the space next to him. "Well, bass is relatively simple. Come here, I'll show you."

Tyson sat gingerly, and Nick handed him a guitar. "What do I -?" Tyson started to ask.

"Here," Nick cradled the back of Tyson's left hand with his palm, guiding it to the fret board. Tyson's heart promptly made its way to his forehead and beat against his hairline. "Okay, now spread your fingers out across the strings, like that – you want one on each string, I'll show you something."

Tyson swallowed. "Alright," he said, trying to get each of his fingers onto a different string, Nick guiding them into place with his own. Tyson shifted, settling the body of the guitar closer to his stomach.

"Now," and Nick shuffled backwards, reaching his right arm around Tyson to position his other arm. Nick's side lay flat against Tyson's back as he moved Tyson's hand on the strings. "Okay," he said, and Tyson tried hard to concentrate on whatever it was he'd say next, "pick at each of the strings with your right hand. Like, each in turn."

Tyson did so, Nick's hands still hovering an inch or two from his. The guitar emitted small sounds, _dnt drnt dnt_. Nick breathed against Tyson's neck, pressed up against him so both arms could reach.

"You hear that?" he asked, and Tyson had no idea what he meant, but he nodded anyway. "Okay, now move this finger here," he nudged Tyson's fingers again. The skin tingled at the contact. "Now this one here, and this hand up that way," his chest pressed closer as he moved Tyson's right hand further up the guitar. "Okay, now pick the third string."

"Third," Tyson started to say, but his throat was dry and he had to clear it before any sound would come out. "Third string going up or going down?" _Fuck, don't blush, don't blush, don't fucking blush, please don't blush_ – His cheeks went pink. _Fuck_.

Nick couldn't see his face, though, and he just said, "This one," nudging Tyson's fingers into place. Tyson swallowed again and wondered how many lessons he'd need. "So pick that one," Nick reminded him after a few moments when Tyson hadn't moved.

"Right, yes," he nodded, plucking the string and trying to listen out for ... whatever he should be listening out for. "Like that?"

"Yeah, uh," and Nick tried to reach further around; he shifted again, further behind Tyson, until his chest was leaning on Tyson's back, and angled Tyson's hand with his palm. "A little more this way," he said.

Tyson could almost swear he felt something, on his back, like – _I have to be imagining I can feel his heart beat, right? It's going so fast. I have to be imagining that._ "Like, uh." He cleared his throat again. "Like this?" He moved his hand a little further, and plucked at the string again. Nick exhaled against the back of his head in the shape of a smile.

"I think you're getting it," he said, and that sounded like a smile too.

"Al_right_," Tyson beamed, playing another couple of notes. "I – don't know what I'm doing, but this sounds kinda cool." He closed his eyes for a second, wishing even harder he could go back in time. _Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, use the word 'cool'._

"You're doing okay, for a beginner," Nick agreed, moving away and sitting beside him again. Tyson's back felt cold. "I can teach you like, what the notes are and how to read tabs and shit, but this is good for now."

Tyson played a few more notes, trying out different positions of his fingers on the frets. "Hey, this feels pretty good," he said, sounding more surprised than he'd meant to. "I mean – I just, you know, I've never tried it before, and this just. No really, I _like it_."

"Good," Nick chuckled a little, awkwardly. "That's kinda the idea."

"Can you play?" He handed the guitar back to Nick when he nodded. "Show me something."

"Alright." Nick paused for a moment, settling the guitar against himself and moving his fingers into place. "See if you know this one."

He started playing a pattern of notes, _drn drn dern, drn drn dr-drn, drn drn drn, dern dern_. "We all came out to Montreux," Tyson sang, a smile spreading, "on the Lake Geneva shoreline."

Nick stopped playing. "Wow," he said.

Tyson blinked. "What?"

"You can sing, dude," he said. "Like, way better than Tony."

"Nah," Tyson shrugged. "I just sing for my dad's buddies and stuff."

Nick just looked at him, sideways. "You're better than Tony," he repeated. "Seriously, you should sing in our band."

"What – you want me? You – you guys want me?" he amended, quickly.

Nick shrugged. "They will when they hear you. And, y'know, when I tell them so." He grinned.

"You got them all in your power, huh?" Nick nodded, laughing. "Puppets on a string." He mimed dangling a puppet and making it dance.

"Something like that," Nick laughed.

A voice came in from another room. "Nick honey, dinner's in ten minutes. Does your friend want to stay for it?"

"Oh shit -" Tyson stood up. "What time is it? I have to get home, my dad -"

"Okay -" Nick put the guitar aside, stood, and Tyson's nose was suddenly inches from his chest. Nick took a step back and cleared his throat. "Don't forget your football stuff, okay?"

"Oh – right – thanks." Tyson grabbed the bag and said, "Look, I had fun today. Can I see you again some time?" Never had he wished so hard for a time machine. "For lessons and stuff, I mean. You know. The, uh, the band."

"Nick?" his mother called again.

"Uh, no Mom," Nick called back, "Tyson's just leaving. I'll be there in a minute." He turned to Tyson and said, "Why don't we hang out after school tomorrow? The Arby's right around the corner at like, three o'clock?"

"Um, okay. Yeah, sounds. Yeah." Tyson shouldered his bag for something to do with his hands. "That's the Arby's by the high school, right?"

"Oh that's right," Nick nodded. "I forgot you're in middle school."

"I'll be a freshman next year," Tyson reminded him, defensive.

"I know. It'll be cool, I'll be a junior. I can show you around. Y'know, maybe," he added, ruffling one hand through his hair. "If you wanted."

Tyson had lost the thread of the conversation somewhere around 'show you around', so he just nodded. "Well, I'd better," he jerked a thumb at the door.

"Yeah, sure, I'll show you out."

When they passed the kitchen, Tyson called out, "Thanks for having me over, Mrs –"

"Wheeler," Nick whispered at his back.

"Wheeler," he finished, not missing a beat.

"You're welcome, Tyson. Dinner, Nick. Ten minutes."

"I got it, Ma." Nick led Tyson down the stairs again and out of the back door. "You know how to get home, right?"

"Yeah," Tyson nodded. "Hey listen – thanks, you know. For the lessons."

"'S alright," Nick shrugged slightly. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, see you then."

Tyson waved as Nick shut the door, and then he started running, checking his watch on the way. He might just make it before his dad got home.

::~::

"You got one more present left," Tim said, pointing to the last gift still wrapped under the Christmas tree. Tyson dived for it, and Tim beamed as he ripped the paper off and his jaw dropped.

"Dad, I – I didn't think you'd – are you serious?"

"Of course I am," Tim said, gruff, pulling him in for a hug.

"All that stuff you said," Tyson mumbled into his shoulder, "about how I shouldn't give up football and. You really. I kept asking! And asking, and you just said – _Dad_!"

Tim patted him on the back. "I never said no," he pointed out. "I said I'd think about it."

"Thank you, Dad." Tyson pulled away, picking up the bass again, yanking the rest of the wrapping off it.

"You're welcome, son. Now, we have an hour before you're off to your mother's, so why don't we play that racing game thing?"

When Tyson called Nick, later that day, his sister picked up the phone and said, "Merry Christmas, the Wheelers!"

"Hi, merry Christmas," Tyson tried not to laugh. "Is Nick there?"

"Yeah, hold on." There was a muffled sound and he heard, quiet, "Nicky, that guy you like is on the phone." There were a few more muffled sounds and a soft shriek and a giggle, and then Nick's voice.

"Sorry about my sister, she's deranged," Nick said, and it sounded like she was protesting in the background. "Go _away_," Nick said, muffled, through gritted teeth. "Ty?" he asked, after one last stifled giggle. It sounded like his sister had finally gone away.

"Yeah," he said, trying not to think about Nick knowing who he was from the words 'that guy you like'. "Yeah, it's me. How's it going?"

"Aside from my insane sister, it's okay. I got the Queen guitar book and three shirts. You?"

"I gave my baby sister a Barbie and she wouldn't stop hugging my legs for like, half an hour. Then Randy gave me this really cool watch, it's proper waterproof and shit, you could like, submerge it in eighty feet of water and it'd still tell you what time it is in Bangkok."

"Has it got those little dial things, that say the time in other countries?"

"No, I just might set it to Thai time."

Nick laughed.

"And guess what else I got," Tyson continued, unable to help the enormous grin as he patted the guitar.

"What?"

"Drum roll," he prompted, and Nick obliged; it sounded like he was beating one fist against his knee. "I got," Tyson said, grandiose, "a _bass guitar_."

"No _way_," Nick crowed. "You said your dad'd _never_ get you one!"

"I didn't think he would! Then last present this morning, fricking _bass guitar_, dude."

"That's _awesome_," Nick exclaimed. "Not that you couldn't have carried on borrowing mine, but dude. Your own bass, that's fantastic."

Tyson let out a happy sigh, settling back against the headboard. "I'm staying at my mom's tonight, want to come over tomorrow and watch movies? I swear to God, I didn't make them do this, but they have a Muppet marathon planned. For Bailey."

"Ty, you know I don't mind having that shit in common with your baby sister." It sounded like he was grinning. "If it's okay with your mom, I'll ask mine."

"She said to invite you," Tyson said, smiling at the opposite wall.

"Okay, gimme a sec." Tyson heard him cover the phone and yell, "Mom? Can I go over to Tyson's mom's house tomorrow?" He couldn't hear the reply, but Nick yelled, "Thanks," and said, "Ty? Yeah, it's cool, I can come over."

"Awesome." The breeze outside picked up, billowing his curtain out. He fought it back with one arm and cried, "I'm being attacked!"

"By what, evil Santas? Zombie reindeer?" Nick snorted.

"There's a headless dude outside who wants to know if I'll play polo with him," Tyson said, shutting the window softly.

"Tell him you don't have a horse," Nick laughed.

"It's okay, he's going away now. I think he's gonna start up a game with that chick in the pearls with the axe."

Nick was still laughing. "Have you been watching too many of those ghost specials, Ty?"

"Maybe. Or maybe this place is haunted, muahahahaaa," and he wished Nick were right there so he could tickle him. Nick's laughter went squeaky, as if he had anyway.

"If tables start flying around tomorrow, I am out of there, Kermit or no Kermit," he gasped through giggles. Tyson slammed his jaw shut to keep from saying, _You're so damn cute, Nickolas_.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said instead. "Tell the ghosts to tone it down while there's guests."

"Ty?" a small sleepy voice came from the floor near the bed. Tyson leaned over and saw Bailey, lying flat against the carpet. She looked up at him, frightened. "Ghost?"

"Oh no honey," Tyson reached down, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear, and picked her up. He pulled her into his lap and settled his arms around her. "There are no ghosts, Bailey, I was just telling my friend Nick a story. You remember Nick, right?" Bailey nodded, her eyes still round as she looked up at him.

"Is Bailey there?" Nick asked in his ear.

"Yeah, she must have snuck in. She's _supposed_ to be in bed," he added, tickling her forearms until she giggled.

"Aww, hey Bailey," Nick called, and Tyson tried to angle the phone so she could hear it.

Bailey stood on his thighs, stretching up to say into the phone, "Hi Nick." She sat back down again.

"So hey, I have to put this little rascal to bed," he said, tickling her again.

"Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow – what time?"

"I don't know, eleven? Probably then. Come then anyway, if we start later we can just hang out here."

"Alright. See you tomorrow, Ty."

"'Bye, Nick." Tyson pressed the 'disconnect' button and dropped the phone onto the bed, swinging Bailey up into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed before Mommy sees you, okay?"

Bailey nodded, one thumb lodged in her mouth. She leaned against his shoulder as he carried her back to her room and tucked her in. "Night night, Ty," she said, yawning part way through.

"G'night, kiddo," he said. "And _sleep_."

"Okay," she said, quiet, her eyes already closing. Tyson watched her for a moment.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered when he was sure she was asleep, and tiptoed out.

::~::

"Summer loving," Tyson sang, "had me a blast."

"Summer loving," Nick joined in, still giggling, "happened so fast."

"Met a girl crazy for me," Tyson crooned, leaning up against Nick's neck.

"Met a boy cute as can – why do I have to be Sandy?" Nick asked, breaking the song.

"Summer days drifting away," Tyson belted out, standing up and flinging his arms out, "but oh, oh those summer," he paused, lowering himself slowly to his knees in front of the couch, Nick bending double with laughter. "Nights," he finished, elongating the note, looking up at Nick through his hair.

"We should not marathon John Travolta movies any more, dude, we always end up doing this," Nick laughed, breathless. "I don't know how much more Saturday Night Fever I can take."

Tyson jumped up, pointing one hand into the air and cocking his hip. "You know you love it," he grinned.

"_Hah_," Nick snorted. "Whatever you say, Ty."

"Seriously, one day I am going to get you in a poodle skirt," Tyson said, collapsing onto the couch. Nick poked him in the arm.

"There is not enough alcohol in the _world_, Ty. In the _world_."

Tyson regarded him squintily. "Oh you just wait and see. One day, my friend. _One day_."

"Ooh, should I be scared?" Nick slouched down to match his position.

"You better believe it." Tyson made a motion with his hands that was meant to indicate stealth, speed, _skill_, but he suspected it ended up more 'dork' than anything he was aiming for. "You know I'll make it happen," he added, pointing menacingly.

Nick rolled his eyes and laughed again. "Yeah, Ty. I'm shaking in my boots. And – no seriously, okay, why's it got to be me always singing the girl's bits? Why am _I_ in the skirt?"

"Oh come on," Tyson poked him, "you know you like it that way."

"No," Nick poked back. "You just always take the boy's part first."

"If you were a girl," Tyson said, suddenly, "you'd be blonde and beautiful and called Lindy or something."

Nick looked like he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or just poke him again. "Why Lindy?" he asked.

Tyson shrugged. "It's a hot girl name, you know. All those hot girls, they're always called something like Lindy or Alicia."

Nick raised his left eyebrow and scrunched up half of his mouth. "What hot girls do _you_ know?"

Tyson put his finger to his lips. "Shh," he said. "It's a secret."

Nick leaned closer. "Well? Where do I find these hot girls called Lindy?"

Tyson paused long enough to lean his head nearer to Nick's, until their noses were a few inches apart. He stayed there for three and a quarter breaths, then grinned and said, "I'm not telling you my secrets, Nickolas."

Nick leaned back and poked him in the elbow. "Why not, _Tyson_? I thought I was your best friend."

"You _are_ my best friend," Tyson agreed. "You're my best friend in the _world_," he added, rolling over so he was sprawled half over his chest, "and you'd do anything for me, right? Anything?" He looked up at him, arranging every particle in his face into the 'puppy' configuration.

Nick just petted his hair absently. "Uh," he said.

"Will you get me some more lemonade? Please?" Tyson batted his eyelashes. "It's _hot_ in here," he added, and sang, "Summer days."

Nick shifted out from under him and stood up. "Fine, I'll get you more lemonade," he said. "I gotta go to the bathroom anyway."

Tyson stretched out on the couch, arching his back until it popped. "Mm," he exhaled, opening his eyes to see Nick still standing there, eyes on him. "That's better," he added, going into another stretch. "My back was all," he waved his hands from the wrist, and Nick nodded.

"Okay. Uh. I'm gonna – I'll be a minute," he said, and disappeared. Tyson heard footsteps on the stairs and picked up the video boxes to fiddle with while he waited.

He heard the bathroom door close, and started humming under his breath, "You're the one that I want, you are the one I want, you-ooh-ooh honey." Three minutes later he heard a thump that sounded like someone stomping on the floor of the bathroom, and then the toilet flushed a few seconds after. "I got chills," Tyson started singing, loudly enough to be heard from upstairs, "they're multiplyin'." He heard Nick coming down the stairs again. "And I'm loooooosing contro-ohl," he increased the volume, adding arm gestures. Nick appeared in the doorway, smiling. Tyson stood, moving over to him, and sang, "'Cos the power you're supplying." He dropped to his knees. "It's _electrifyin'_." He thrust his hips and notched up several octaves on the last word. Nick just looked down at him. "Hey," Tyson said, before he could stop himself, "you got some mayonnaise on your pants."

Nick looked down and instantly turned bright red. "Shit," he muttered. "Yeah, uh, must have been from that sandwich. I'll go uh, clean it off," and his footsteps pounded up the stairs again.

"Huh," Tyson murmured, standing up and brushing his knees off. "We didn't have mayonnaise," he said to no one. He paused for a moment, then shrugged and went to the kitchen to pour out another couple of glasses of lemonade.

Three weeks later, Tyson was waiting nervously at the corner of Maple and Walnut, picking at the hem of his shirt and keeping a hand on the strap of his backpack that was slung over his shoulder. He felt a tap on his back and whirled around.

"Hey," Nick said, waving slightly. "You ready?"

"I guess," Tyson nodded, and they set off.

"First day of high school, huh?" Nick said, as they walked.

"Yep."

"You nervous?"

"Pfft," Tyson waved a hand. Nick looked at him.

"You'll be okay," he said, bumping his shoulder against Tyson's. They had both had growth spurts over the summer, and now Tyson was level with him. "You coming to practice tonight?"

"Yeah, is James still coming, or is he doing stuff with that – what's her name, Stacey?"

"Yeah, no, he called me yesterday, said he had plans. They just started dating after like, two fucking _years_ of him talking about her _all the time_."

"Wow, I've had a year of it, but you guys. You've stuck through _two_. How did you do it?"

Nick winked. "The secret's to keep bashing him over the head with blunt objects until he asks her the fuck out."

"Think that works with everyone?" Tyson asked, automatically trying to calculate how heavy his bag would be.

"It's always worth trying," Nick said. He was smiling, and the morning sun was lighting up his hair, and it was far too early for this.

"I'll keep that in mind," Tyson replied. "You never know when it might come in useful, right?"

Nick shifted the weight of his backpack. "Right."

::~::

"Okay, where are they, where are they," Tyson leaned over the heads of the crowd. He'd grown another inch that winter, over a year since his last spurt, so he saw the boards a second before Nick did. "Over there – come on -"

He made his way through the throng, pulling Nick after him, and it wasn't until they were two thirds of the way to the wall that he realised he was pulling Nick along _by the hand_. He quickly dropped it, ducking his head, and kept barrelling through the crowd. When he got to the wall, he was almost knocked over by a squealing girl.

"I got Dorothy!" she beamed at him. She was a senior, who Tyson had seen at auditions and thought was adorable, so he smiled at her.

"That's awesome, congratulations!" He turned back to the boards as she fought her way back out into the clear parts of the corridor, and searched the rows of names. "Tin man," he muttered, reading off, "Wizard – oh. _Oh_. NICK!" he yelled, fighting past people, pushing away arms and torsos until he was clear of the crowd and found Nick, standing on the edges of it. "Nick," he said, "Nick, _I got the part_. Cowardly Lion, baby, it's _mine_!"

Nick hugged him, a quick and solid movement. "That's _awesome_, dude, way to go," he said, beaming. Tyson squeezed him gently before he let go.

"I have to go find Miss Carter, get my script."

"Okay. You won't start singing _We're off to see the wizard_ at practice, right?" Nick grinned.

"Oh, here it starts," Tyson rolled his eyes. "Listen," he said, pointing at Nick's chest, "I will hear the end of this. Got that? I _will_ hear the end of it."

Nick patted him on the arm. "You keep telling yourself that, Ty," he said. "As long as you believe it, that's the main thing. Or," he started laughing, "or rather, your _costume_ will be the mane thing." He collapsed against Tyson's side, wheezing. "Get it – mane -"

"Yes, Nick," Tyson sighed, though his heart was thumping, "I got it."

It was hot behind the stage, on opening night that summer. Tyson stood in the wings, watching the action on stage, and felt someone step up behind him and tug his tail. He whirled around to silently give whoever it was hell, but came face to face with Nick's grin. "Hi," Nick said, yanking his tail again. Tyson swished it out of the way.

"Stop that," he whispered, moving them both away from side stage and into a corner of the room behind. "What are you doing back here? I thought you were in the audience."

"Came to wish you luck," Nick shrugged, and he was standing awfully close. "No wait, isn't it break a leg?"

"I'm not overly superstitious," Tyson murmured, hoping his breathing didn't sound as shallow as it felt.

Nick stepped even closer, and his hair tickled against Tyson's forehead. Breath ghosted over his nose as Nick whispered, "I do believe in spooks, I do, I do, I _do_ believe in spooks." He was smiling.

Tyson nearly forgot to inhale. "Gonna smudge my whiskers," he said, barely any sound in it.

Nick looked at him, unfocused from this distance, and his breath seemed to hitch. "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my," he murmured, soft, and stepped away again. Tyson leaned against the wall, trying to make it look like he didn't need the support for his knees not to give way. "Knock 'em dead," Nick whispered, and disappeared again.

Tyson just stood there for a minute, staring at the air where he'd been, as if hoping he would solidify out of the oxygen particles.

"Hey Ritter," he heard a hiss, "you're on in two, get up there."

"Right, right," Tyson found his voice again. He made his way back to the wings and watched Dorothy, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow tiptoeing through the forest set, waiting for his cue.

Nick found him backstage after the last curtain call, beaming as he clapped him on the back. "Great job, dude," he said. "You totally nailed that faint."

"Months of practice, baby," Tyson grinned, still lifted on the adrenaline high of applause. "Did you see that, they _loved_ it."

"Yeah, reckon by Saturday there'll be standing ovations."

"Really? You think so?"

Nick leaned closer to say, voice soft, "I'll be leading them," and Tyson grabbed his hand, abrupt, yanking him away and out into the deserted corridor. He pulled him further, pushing open the huge double doors to the yard outside, and waited until they had clanged shut before he whirled around and leaned close in. "What?" Nick asked, and Tyson looked at him, and he noticed that Nick's pupils were getting _huge_ and his breathing was shallow and his pulse was knocking on the heels of their hands.

"Nick," he breathed, "Nick, I didn't – I – shit, I'm sorry, I don't -" He dropped contact and stepped away, swallowing and looking up at the moon. "Sorry. Don't know what I was – I have to go, get changed, get this shit off my face." He went back inside without looking back, and Nick didn't follow.

Tyson sat heavily in one of the chairs in the classroom the boys had commandeered for a dressing room. He shut his eyes, sliding his head onto his arms, and let out one long, heavy sigh.

"Fuck," he groaned into the table. He moved his arms and hit his head against it softly a few times. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"You okay?" a voice asked, and he didn't bother replying, just held one thumb up. "Everyone's heading to Pizza Hut if you wanna come."

Tyson brandished the raised thumb, and heard the last of the other guys leaving. The door closed, and he raised his head to face the mirror.

Nick was standing behind him.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Tyson sighed. "I guess just, heat of the moment or whatever. I gotta get out of musical theatre," he added, trying for half a jesting smile, but it didn't quite come out right. Nick said nothing, so he just unscrewed the top on his make-up remover, poured it onto a cotton bud and got to work. "Sorry," he said again as he scrubbed at his chin. Nick still wasn't speaking. "Look, are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there making me feel bad?"

"Just." Nick's voice was strained. "Just do what you gotta do with the make-up thing, I can't. Yeah." He looked away.

Tyson considered the objects on the table in front of him, wondering if any would be good for slitting his throat. He concluded that several blusher brushes would definitely not be sharp enough to do any damage, so he just continued with the cotton bud, swipe, swipe, his face appearing underneath the orange foundation.

It took two cotton buds and another face cloth before the make-up was gone, and Tyson got up to drop them into the trash can. He had to pass Nick on his way back to the table, and as he did, Nick's hand shot out to grab his wrist. The move was more gentle than Tyson expected.

"If you don't want to hang out any more," Tyson whispered, trying hard not to think what life without Nick Wheeler would be like, "that's."

"Look at me," Nick said. His voice was quiet, and Tyson risked a look up. He blinked.

"Oh," he said.

"Fuck, Ty," Nick breathed, edging closer. "I don't – if it was just a thing, you know, like a – I don't know. What the fuck _was_ that?"

Tyson swallowed. His insides had started to fizz. "What do you want it to have been?" he asked, so quietly even he had to strain to hear it.

Nick stood for a second, breathing hard, and said, "For fuck's sake, don't punch me," and leaned forward to kiss him, quickly. Just a light kiss, meeting of lips for one second, hardly enough time for Tyson to press back, but he did anyway.

"I," Tyson whispered, "I wouldn't punch you for that. You know, if you did it again. I wouldn't. I mean, I'd be okay with that."

"You, you would be?" Nick breathed, eyes closed.

Tyson slid one hand into Nick's hair and leaned closer again. "Yeah, yeah I really would be," he murmured, their mouths half an inch apart.

Nick tilted his head and caught Tyson's mouth, groaning a little as Tyson shifted closer. They kissed, press and push of lips and breath and Tyson opened his mouth, just a little bit, just enough. Nick's hands went to Tyson's waist, pulling him in, as he eased the tip of his tongue past Tyson's lips.

He tasted like hot dogs. Tyson opened his mouth more, lifting his tongue to brush against Nick's, and Nick groaned again. Tyson's palm flexed in his hair.

He didn't know how long it was until they broke apart, but he was vaguely surprised as the rest of the world settled into focus again. "Oh hey," he said, "we're still in the dressing room."

Nick laughed into his neck.

"John dropped out," was the first thing Nick said at the next band rehearsal. "He's going to summer camp, said next year he'll be doing tons of school shit, he's got like, a million extra credit things. Says he wants to get into Harvard or some shit."

"Woah." Tyson dumped his guitar case down. "Well, that – I mean, we haven't found a replacement for Tony yet, and James is still, y'know." Nick nodded. "So that kind of just leaves – well, us. And you're going to college."

Nick shrugged. "I'll still be in the band, dude. I could set us up with beats, play guitar. I mean, you sing, it's not like we need anything else, right?"

"Just you and me?" Tyson looked at him, suddenly not sure they were talking about the band any more.

"Um." Nick moved closer and put his arm around Tyson's waist. "Yeah, just you and me."

"That what you want, the – the two of us?" Tyson asked. His heart seemed to be trying to escape from his ribcage.

Nick kissed him, lightly. "Yes," he said, "it is."

"Oh. Good." Tyson nudged their noses together. "How about we blow off practice today and go back to my place to make out?"

Nick seemed to consider the options. "Yeah, okay," he said at last, starting for the door almost at a run.

::~::

"Are we ever," Tyson breathed against Nick's skin, "going to go on an actual date?"

"I don't know," Nick replied, running his hands up and down Tyson's back, "wouldn't that be kind of like. Obvious, that we're boyfriends?"

"Nick, we've been sneaking off all summer to make out," Tyson pointed out, shifting as Nick's hip dug into his stomach, "and we haven't actually – okay, no, no, this is not going to work. The stick shift is like, emasculating me here."

"What about if I -" Nick moved over to make room. His elbow hit the centre of the steering wheel and a loud beep filled the night. "Um. Or not."

"This would be," Tyson said, huffing as he tried to move his leg in a way that the seat had something to say about, "so much easier if we were in the _back_ seat."

"Uh. I, yeah, I mean, I guess so, but it. Yeah. No, yeah, okay." Nick nodded, and they moved and climbed over, accompanied by involuntary grunting sounds and two honks of the horn when Tyson accidentally kicked the wheel.

Tyson tried to settle in the seat, but Nick was lying down. "I – wait, are – woah, hold on there," he said, splaying one hand on Nick's chest. "Did you think I meant – I mean, we haven't, you know, really _done_ any – uh."

It was dark, but Nick was definitely blushing. "Oh. You just meant like," he swallowed.

"Make out," Tyson nodded. "But hey, you know, if you wanted to do like. If you – I know you're like, older and more experienced and shit, I -"

"Ty." Nick was struggling to sit up, but Tyson's legs were in the way. "I'm not."

"Not what?", and Tyson couldn't help it, he was staring.

Nick looked away, cheeks still red. "Not more experienced," he mumbled. He looked back. "How many – you've known me three years, Ty, and I haven't had any. Uh." He closed his eyes and exhaled, "Boyfriends. In that time."

"Oh, so you're – I – oh. I didn't know," Tyson murmured. Nick opened his eyes to fix him with an incredulous glare. "You could have been bi, Nick, I don't know!" Tyson threw his hands up. "How was I to know, I never asked!"

"Are you?" Nick asked. Tyson blinked.

"Am I what?"

"_Bi_, you idiot." Nick rolled his eyes.

"Yes. I mean, I think I am, I've had like, two girlfriends in my _life_ and all we ever did was make out, and it wasn't anything spectacular. And I kind of liked guys, I guess, then I met you and it was like, oh hey, I like _a guy_ kind of a lot, so I figured, huh, must be bi then." He shrugged. "Don't see it matters."

Nick nodded. "Okay." He squeezed his eyes shut and said, "I'm gay." It sounded like he was pushing the words out of his throat by force.

Tyson leaned down, settling over him, and brushed their noses together. "I figured," he smiled.

Nick opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling of the car. "Never actually," he gave Tyson a sheepish smile, "said that out loud before."

"Honey, we marathon _musicals_," Tyson pointed out. "Summer days, drifting away," he sang, soft, smiling down.

Nick groaned and arched his neck. "Did I ever tell you," he whispered, leaning up to breathe against Tyson's earlobe, "when I went to the bathroom that day, and you said I had mayonnaise on my pants afterwards? That, uh. That wasn't mayonnaise."

Tyson went still. "No."

Nick blushed. "Uh. Yeah."

"You _jerked off in my bathroom_?" Tyson leaned up and away from him again, so he could stare him in the eye.

Nick just blushed harder. "I was sixteen, Ty. You're fucking hot, okay?"

"Fuck," Tyson moaned, falling onto him again and crushing their mouths together. "_Fuck_," he groaned into his mouth, because Nick's pelvis was level with his and Nick was _grinding softly upwards_.

"If you wanna," Nick panted, shifting his thigh, and Tyson had to brace his knee against the seat in between Nick's legs to stay balanced, and this was _not fucking fair_, "we – we could – if you -"

"Nick." Tyson leaned up and away again. It took every ounce of effort he could muster. "Nick. I have no idea what you're asking, you have to _say it_."

Nick stared at him for a minute, but his eyes were soft so maybe, maybe it was more gazing than staring, and neither of them moved. Tyson felt something at his belt and jerked, looking down to see Nick's hand. "I want," Nick whispered, and when Tyson looked back at him their eyes locked. "I want to jerk you off."

Three things, at that point, happened at once: Tyson's spine decided it would much rather be liquid than solid, Tyson's knee moved up the seat of its own volition until his thigh was pressing against Nick's crotch, and Tyson's mouth opened to emit a long groaning sound.

"Okay then," Nick nodded, "that's a yes."

"Nnhhffmn," was all Tyson could manage, though he did nod, just in case.

Nick reached for his belt and got it undone, eyes still locked on Tyson's. "This is kind of a weird angle, can you – come closer, okay?"

Tyson lowered himself a little more and had a moment of thinking _I hope my arms don't give out_ before Nick yanked the zip on his jeans down and got a hand inside.

"Please," and Tyson rocked his thigh against the bulge in Nick's pants just as he started to speak, so his breath hitched on the word, "Ty, please tell me you usually wear underwear."

Tyson couldn't manage words right at that second, because Nick's _hand_ was on his _cock_ and he was amazed that his entire bone structure had not melted. So he just shook his head.

"_Fuuuck_," Nick moaned, throwing his head back and starting to softly pull with his hand, the other one reaching to push Tyson's jeans down his legs a little when he'd done arching.

Tyson did not have a working brain left. Luckily, his thigh seemed to be operating under its own power, because it rocked again. He knew there were nerve endings, and true, there were also two layers of material, but he still _knew_ he should be able to feel Nick's erection, because _fuck_, but all of his senses were preoccupied with the feel of Nick's fingers and Nick's palm and _Nick's thumb_, which was _rubbing in circles on the head of his cock_, and there was no room for processing any other kind of sensation, because _fuck_.

"You have," Nick groaned, eyes half open, "no fucking idea how fucking _hot this is_, fuck, Ty."

Tyson rocked his thigh back and forth in lieu of an answer. He was incapable of sound. Nick's hand worked, up and down and, fuck, _squeezing_, and Tyson shut his eyes, stars on his eyelids, but he opened them again within seconds because the sight of Nick with his mouth open and his eyes fucking _black_ with wide pupils and his voice low and husky and hitching on every other breath as Tyson's wonderful, awesome, amazing, _blessed_ thigh rocked and rocked on its own was much, _much_ better than bursting blood vessels or whatever the fuck it is that makes you see stars, and right now, whatever the fuck it is that makes you see stars was called Nick _fucking_ Wheeler, and Tyson had no fucking clue what time was, which way was up, or how to spell his own name.

"Fuck, I just," Nick leaned up, the angles so much better, fuck, _so much better_, and ground against Tyson's thigh. "Fuck, Ty, will you – fuck, I'm gonna fucking. _Fuck_."

Tyson's mouth fell open and a hoarse moan escaped; he jerked forward and came all over Nick's hand, over his wrist, and Nick just yanked him closer and humped his thigh, hard.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," Nick whined in the back of his throat.

Tyson started shaking his head, sharp movement, because he still couldn't speak yet. He shifted down, Nick whimpering as contact was broken, but Tyson just kept shaking his head, blinking at him, until he was shifted much further down so his head was level with Nick's waist.

"Holy," Nick panted, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "You're not."

Tyson just unzipped his jeans as fast as he could, yanking them and Nick's underwear down his thighs, and he let himself just fucking _stare_, for a moment, at Nick's cock, before he opened his mouth and sank onto it.

Nick made a sound that was mostly whine, underscored with a groan, and all of it high-pitched. He grasped handfuls of Tyson's hair as Tyson took one, sharp, sure suck, and Nick bucked his hips up and came. Tyson's mouth filled, which he filed somewhere at the back of his mind under 'this is kinda weird, but I like it', and he pulled away carefully, trying not to spill any on the seat. He pushed it into his cheeks, swallowing a little bit at a time, eyes fixed on Nick's as he did so. Nick groaned, falling back against the seat he'd arched up from.

Tyson swallowed the last of it and shifted the experience from 'this is kinda weird' to 'activities to be repeated at every possible opportunity'. It was firmly labeled 'sucking Nick off' in permanent marker, and the drawer was shut. "Um," he said, just to see if he could speak again yet.

Nick just stared at him. "I," he said. His throat sounded dry, and he swallowed a few times. He didn't take his eyes off Tyson's. "Fucking hell," he said at last.

"Yeah," Tyson just nodded. The English language was starting to sidle in again, making its way slowly across his synapses.

"I," Nick repeated.

Tyson collapsed against him. "That was nice," he said, kissing his shoulder. "Can we do that again some time?"

"_Nnfffmnghhh_," Nick replied, eyes wide. "Yes, fuck, _yes_, where the fuck did you _learn to do that_, I – holy shit."

"What?" Tyson blushed. "It wasn't _that_ good – I mean, was it?"

Nick just looked at him. "My spine," he said. "I can't feel my spine. Is it still there?"

"Wait, let me check." Tyson reached around him, and Nick obligingly arched up again; when Tyson's fingers skated over his back, however, Nick let out tiny gasping sounds and arched further. "Are ... are you okay, Nick?" Tyson asked, still making sure he could feel vertebrae.

"Yeah," Nick gasped.

"You're squirming," Tyson pointed out.

"That feels fucking _good_," Nick said, wriggling against Tyson's fingers.

"Wow, okay, I am giving you like, a massage some time or something." Tyson ran his fingertips down Nick's spine again, watching him buck and writhe. "Shit, that's fucking sexy, what you're doing there, Nick."

"You just made me _come like a_ – fuck, I don't even know." Nick exhaled, leaning up and yanking Tyson's shirt until part of his shoulder was exposed. He bit it, softly, just hard enough to feel.

"Oh, I am totally going to do that again, like, _any time you want_," Tyson sighed.

Nick went still and blinked at him. "You are the best fucking boyfriend in the whole fucking world," he said. "How about Saturday for a date?"

Tyson leaned down and kissed him. "Saturday, actually, I'm busy. I've got this really fucking hot guy, we're going on a date. Should be pretty interesting. Thinking I might get laid."

"Oh yeah? I might be getting laid Saturday night, too," Nick returned, starting to smile. "And _my_ date happens to be the best lay this side of – of _Jupiter_."

"Oh really?" Tyson kissed him again, smiling into his mouth. "Lucky you."

"Yeah," Nick breathed. "Lucky me."

::~::

"Are you sure this'll work?" Tyson asked, quiet.

"Trust me, dude," Nick nodded.

"I trust _you_," Tyson told him, looking nervously around at the line, "I just don't necessarily trust some dude you met in a bar who gave you a fake ID."

"You'll get in," Nick assured him. Tyson didn't say a word, but Nick squeezed his hand and the line slowly crept towards the door.

Nick showed his ID to the doorman, who nodded him through. Tyson held his up, and was about to follow Nick into the club when a large hand came palm up to his face. "Let me see that again," the doorman said, turning his palm upwards. Tyson placed his ID into it, smiling in what he hoped was a winning manner.

"Everything okay?" he asked, trying to see where Nick had gone.

"Nice try." The doorman handed his ID back. "Come back with some real ID and maybe you'll get in."

"Aw, come on, man, I'm eighteen! Look," Tyson pointed at the card. "Says so right there."

"Yeah, and I'd believe it if this weren't a fake. Go home, kid."

"But – but my _friend_'s in there," Tyson indicated the space where Nick had been.

"So your friend can tell you all about it later," the doorman said, relentless. "Now move, before I call security."

Tyson sighed, taking his fake ID when the doorman handed it back. He hoped Nick would come back out when he saw Tyson hadn't followed. In the meanwhile, he found a low wall half a block away and sat down on it, kicking his heels against the stones.

"Hey," he looked up when he heard Nick's voice. "I couldn't find you, were you busted?"

"Yeah." Tyson patted the wall next to him. "Told you I didn't trust that guy."

"Sorry," Nick said as he sat.

"Hey, you wanna go back in there, see the show? You can always tell me about it after, I could sneak round the back, listen outside the window."

Nick wrinkled his nose. "Go see the show without you?"

"Dude, we came all this way to see Third Eye fucking Blind, we got _tickets_, come on. How often do we go to shows?"

"Isn't this like, your third?"

"You tell me, you took me to all of them."

Nick kissed him, quickly. "Do you really want me to go back in there?"

"Seriously." Tyson leaned their foreheads together. "Go tell me what it was like to see, I'll hear it."

"Okay," Nick breathed, tilting closer for another kiss. Tyson obliged, giving his upper lip some attention before releasing it. Nick exhaled shakily and stood up. "Right, yeah. Okay."

"And uh. Nick?" He took a deep breath. "Tonight, you know, when we get home, my – uh, you know how Mom and Randy took Bailey to Disneyland?"

"Oh right, yeah," Nick nodded. He was still standing, arms looped around Tyson's neck, Tyson's hands on his sides.

"Well," Tyson stood up and shifted his palms to Nick's hips, "that means I've got the house to myself. And if you, uh, if you wanted to, we could go back there," he took Nick's upper lip between both of his and sucked for half a second, then leaned back.

"Mmm, sounds good to me," Nick smiled, nuzzling their noses together. Tyson exhaled, a hitch in it.

"No," he said, pulling Nick's hips flush with his, "I didn't finish."

"Oh. Sorry. Continue." Nick's eyes were crinkled at the corners, and Tyson felt so frustrated for a second he curled one hand into a fist, flexing it in the material of Nick's jacket.

"Maybe," he said, breathed, _willing_ Nick to stop smiling and take this fucking seriously, "seeing as we'd have the whole place to ourselves, we could." He looked at Nick, meeting his eyes with difficulty, too close to focus. "Fuck," he sighed, leaning up to Nick's ear.

Nick's smile had faded. "Ty?" he swallowed.

"I want – I want us to have sex," Tyson whispered into his earlobe.

"Well _yeah_, that's what – _what_, Ty?" Nick asked, as Tyson made an exasperated sound in his throat.

He leaned back. "You jerk-off, I want you to _fuck me_." It came out louder than he'd meant it to, and he added, quieter, "I didn't mean for it to – Nick." He looked into his eyes again, easier now their faces were further apart. "I want your penis in my ass," he said, slowly and precisely. "Can I spell it out any clearer for you, or is that good enough?"

Nick did not appear capable of speech. He was sort of gawking, and Tyson laughed, sudden, and closed his jaw with one hand.

"Don't dribble on your shoes," he said, and then Nick started laughing too, and leaned against Tyson's chest to giggle, small convulsions of his entire upper body as the sound squeezed out of his mouth.

"Ty," he gasped out through laughter, "you have no idea how many times I have jerked off in the last three years thinking about my penis in your ass."

Tyson laughed harder. "You have no idea how many times _I_ have jerked off in the last three years thinking about your penis in my ass."

"Or," Nick giggled, "or your penis in _my_ ass."

Tyson stopped laughing. "Fuck, yeah, that too."

Nick giggled a few more times, weakly. "Ty," he said, "Ty, do you still want me to go to the show?"

Tyson stroked one hand down Nick's back and smiled, a slow spread. He wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes were glinting. "Yes," he said, a low murmur. "I want you to go back in there and watch the show, knowing I'm out here listening, and I'm going to want to know _details_ of what it all was like inside. And then," he dragged his palm up Nick's spine again, "_then_ I am going to drive us home, while you tell me all the details of what it was like inside, and when we get back I am going to show you the drawer where I keep all the shit we'll need. And then I want you to fuck me in the ass, Nick Wheeler. Then I want you to fuck me in the ass." He dragged his palm back down Nick's spine. "Remember," he murmured, "I'll want details."

"Fuck, I can't even think right now," Nick moaned. They heard the near-off muffled sounds of the opening band starting to play. "Too late to get back in now anyway," he breathed, squirming against Tyson's hands. "Can't we just," his head went back, "can't we just go back to yours, skip the show?"

Tyson licked a line up Nick's neck and groaned into his ear, "Yeah," and Nick practically yanked his arm off pulling him towards the car. "We can't do anything until we get there," Tyson reminded him, "we haven't got lube and shit here."

"Just for the record," Nick said when they got into the car and Tyson started the ignition, "it is totally okay with me if you break speed limits."

"Dude, you know we'd get pulled over, right? Universal law. When you least want it to happen, it happens."

"Just – just drive, okay?" Nick exhaled, sitting back in his seat. Tyson drove out of the parking spot, trying not to notice how very obviously hard Nick was.

"You okay?" Tyson kept sneaking looks, and Nick's eyes were closed, his head back against the seat.

"Yeah, I just – Ty," he breathed. "I just."

"I'm driving as fast as I legally can," Tyson said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to pat Nick's thigh reassuringly. Nick groaned and grabbed his hand, moving it upwards. "Fuck," Tyson blinked. "Trying not to crash, Nick."

"Right. Sorry." Nick let go of his hand and shifted away, curling in on himself a little.

"Jesus, are you sure you're okay?" Tyson asked. "We can stop, pull over, I can suck you off or something if it'll help."

Nick groaned. "I think I would just," he said, like it was an effort to remember what words were, "probably," and his voice trailed off. "I don't know, shit."

"That's it, I'm pulling over." Tyson checked his mirrors, but the freeway was relatively clear. He changed lanes, finding an exit and driving down it. A closed down Taco Bell loomed in front of them, and Tyson stopped in the empty parking lot. He turned to Nick. "Seriously, did I fucking break you, what?"

Nick's eyes were closed. "Kinda," he said, sheepish, trying to smile. "It's just." He opened his eyes. Tyson was startled at how fucking _dark_ they were.

"Your eyes go green when you're turned on," Tyson told him, moving closer. "Right now they're like. I don't know, man, dark fucking green."

Nick nodded.

"You alright? Not gonna cream your pants or anything, are you?"

"Maybe."

"Shit." Tyson undid his seatbelt and leaned over, breath ghosting on Nick's jeans while he got them undone. "Lift," he prompted at Nick's hiss. "Your _hips_, man, I gotta get your pants down."

Nick lifted his hips, and Tyson yanked his jeans and underpants down far enough. His mouth followed the movement as Nick settled back, and Nick groaned. "Fuck," he muttered, "I just gotta – let you know, _fuck_," he moaned as Tyson sucked, "I'm gonna last two seconds."

"One," Tyson tried to say around his cock, but all that came out was a vibration and half a sound. Nick threw his head back and bucked. "Two," Tyson added, and Nick bucked once more, coming with a long loud groan.

"Shit," Nick breathed as Tyson leaned back up again, swallowing carefully. "Sorry, I just."

"Hey dude, that's what I did that for," Tyson patted him gently on the arm. "You okay now? Not gonna explode or anything?"

"Yeah, no, I'm good." He pulled his pants back up and turned to kiss Tyson. "Thanks."

"Any time, baby." Tyson buckled his seatbelt again, restarting the engine. "Now let's get us home so you can fuck me slow and good, alright?"

Nick just made a small sound and nodded.

Tyson pulled up in front of his house in less time than it had ever taken him to get there, and Nick seemed to have gained enough use of his spine back to climb out of the car and follow him inside. He pulled him closer by the waist as they got to the stairs, open-mouthed wet kisses on the back of his neck.

"Slow and good, right?" he asked. Tyson was already squirming, so he figured they had the second part down.

"Right," he said, leading the way upstairs. Nick kept hold of his hips, pushing up against him, and Tyson could _feel_ that he was hard again. "Here," he yanked open the drawer when they got to his room and closed the door behind them. "My gay sex stash. Lube, condoms, and uh. I got some other kinky shit in there, but we can just start off with the basics."

"Do we need condoms?" Nick asked as Tyson handed him the box. "I mean, I'm a – uh. I'd never even _fooled around_, not really, not like. Not like _this_, before you, so. I mean, I am definitely a virgin," and he was blushing as he said it. "And you're – you are, right? A virgin?"

"Unless you count all the other stuff we've done – ass virgin, though, yeah."

"Right. And, _I'm_ clean, so you won't catch anything from me, and – you're clean, right?"

Tyson shrugged. "I got a check-up last month, not _specialised_ or nothing, but yeah, I'm clean."

"Well – do we need these?" Nick held up the condoms. "I'm not sleeping with anyone else, I _presume_ you're not -"

"No way," Tyson cut in. "There is no _way_ I am sleeping with anyone else."

"Right," Nick nodded, and he was grinning, just a little. "Well, I – it's up to you, Ty. Do you think we should use them? I think we're okay without."

Tyson bit his lip. "I think you're right," he said at last. "We're okay without."

Nick dropped the box back in the drawer. "You've got a lot of lube, right?" he asked, holding his palm out for the bottle.

"Yeah." Tyson handed it to him and started taking his own shirt off. Nick stopped him, a hand on his.

"Let me," he said, and pulled Tyson's shirt over his head. He ran his fingertips over Tyson's chest, leaning down to stamp kisses in a pattern. His palms followed. Tyson exhaled, a low sigh. Nick undid his pants and Tyson stepped out of them, kicking his shoes off; Nick steered him down onto the bed and ran his fingertips over Tyson's thighs, cupping one knee in each palm, running his hands up and down his calves. He leaned down to plant a line of kisses from each ankle to each knee, and up each thigh to where they met Tyson's hips. He dipped his fingertips into the creases there, Tyson breathing hard, mouth open, knees bent, looking up at the ceiling. He whimpered when Nick kissed along his stomach, over his inner thighs, a wide circle he narrowed slowly, spiralling inwards. Tyson whimpered louder as Nick's tongue flicked out against his thigh; Nick briefly closed his mouth over the head of Tyson's cock and sucked, sharp, and then he was gone and Tyson groaned.

"Fuck, what are you – _fuck_," he whimpered.

"Sshh," Nick smiled down at him, pulling off his own shirt and pants as quickly as he could. Tyson couldn't move, staring up at Nick, naked, leaning over him, nudging his knees further apart. "You okay?" he asked, gazing down. Tyson nodded. "I'm, uh." Nick held up one hand, the palm coated in a thick layer of lube. He stroked his own cock with it, once, twice, his mouth falling open. "Okay," he breathed through his nose, "okay." Tyson watched as he slathered more lube onto his fingers. He felt them, cold against his thighs, and opened his legs further.

Nick's fingers slowly, carefully, slid inside his ass, and Tyson's brain tried to process 'shit, this hurts like _fuck_' and 'fuck, this feels _so good_' simultaneously. He ended up with a sort of buzzing in his ears and vague awareness of a sharp stabbing pain that was muffled by what felt like a fuzzy blanket. Nick's fingers slid gently in and out, and Tyson shifted, trying to get comfortable.

"You alright?" Nick whispered. Tyson nodded.

"It just, it kind of hurts. But it's okay," he added as Nick looked like he was about to stop.

Nick leaned down and kissed him. "If you're sure," he said against his mouth, and Tyson nodded again.

Nick slid another finger in, and Tyson arched, trying to spread his legs further. "That's, yeah. See, it fucking _hurts_, okay, but at the same time it feels like the best fucking thing _ever_," he said, brow creased.

"Maybe we should just keep doing this for a while," Nick said, pushing his fingers gently in and out.

Tyson angled his hips and pushed up onto Nick's hand. "Mmf, fuck, I want this to be – Nick, please, fuck me." He whimpered as Nick's fingers curled. "Please, _fuck me_," he groaned, voice breaking, a high desperate sound.

"Jesus," Nick panted, removing his fingers carefully. There was a soft sound and a grunt that Tyson realised a second later meant Nick was adding more lube onto his cock, and then – then he felt it, pushing in, and he spread his thighs as far as they would physically go. Nick went slowly, watching his face, and Tyson's mouth had opened and _sounds_ were coming out but he couldn't tell what they were because his entire body was focused on the sensations of Nick's cock in his fucking _ass_, dragging slowly, so fucking _slowly_ in and out. It was just slow enough, just gentle enough, but Tyson wrapped one leg around Nick's hips and pushed up onto him.

"F-" he tried, but Nick just pushed in again and the word stuck in his throat. "Oh f-f-"

Nick nodded, or at least, he seemed to be trying to nod, but his face was frozen in concentration. He stared down at their bodies, and seemed to see Tyson's cock for the first time. "Oh -" he said, reaching down to wrap a hand around it.

He pulled, once, and Tyson arched up and came, mouth open, a groan shaped like _fucccck_ escaping through his throat.

"Shit," Nick gasped, panted, shoving in a little harder, sending shooting pain through Tyson's abdomen.

"N-n-," he shook his head in Nick's rhythm, and Nick slowed down.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to – fuck, _fuck_," Nick sighed, slow again, and it was starting to become more painful than pleasurable so Tyson shifted some more, trying to get comfortable again; he was just about to suggest Nick stop and he jerk him off or something when he heard Nick whining in the back of his throat. "Fuck, Ty," Nick panted, and Tyson's entire spine melted back against the mattress. He thrust upwards, once, twice, and on the third time, Nick came, moaning, "Fuck, _Ty_."

He could feel it, this warm weight in his ass, and it felt like he was full, from the soles of his feet upwards. Nick carefully pulled out – which sent one last stabbing pain through his body – and collapsed on top of him.

"I kind of," Nick sighed, kissing his chest, "really liked that."

Tyson just nodded.

"You okay, Ty?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding again for emphasis. "Yeah. I'm gonna be sore for a while, but. Yeah."

Nick curled around him. "You can pay me back for that," he said, grinning as Tyson angled his neck to look at him. "Fuck me tomorrow?"

"Mmmnf, shit." Tyson nodded, kissing his forehead. "Sounds good to me."

They lay, silent for a minute. "Your sheets will get sticky," Nick murmured.

"They're used to it," Tyson smiled. He nuzzled his jaw over the top of Nick's head. "It's gonna suck next month when you go to college."

Nick sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'll come back on the weekends, I swear."

"You'd better," Tyson said into his hair.

He stared out at the garden, phone in his hand, five weeks later. The first leaf on the tree outside his window detached itself as he watched, weighting the phone in his hand, hopping it between his palms.

It rang. Tyson jumped, a second leaf fell, and he hit the 'answer call' button. "Hi?"

"Hey Ty, it's me." Nick did not, exactly, sound sober.

"Hey Nick, whatcha up to?"

"Nothin' much," and he was almost slurring. "Just hanging out, having some beers. The guys here are really awesome."

"Sounds great." Tyson stared out at the tree. "You coming home this weekend?"

"I can't, man, my tyres all got flat. There was this hazing thing, it got caught in the crossfire. Hey Dougie," he yelled, fainter.

Tyson nodded to himself, bringing his knees to his chin. "You having fun, Nick?"

"I'm partyin'," Nick replied, though it wasn't really an answer.

"That's college, right? Party all the time."

"Pretty much. Sean, dude, we playin' tomorrow night? Awesome, awesome."

"Sounds like you're pretty busy," Tyson said, fiddling with the hem of his jeans. "Wait – you're playing? Like, a show?"

"Just this party, me and a couple of the guys got together."

"Oh. Right. That's great, that's really great."

"Yeah, college is a _blast_, man," and there was a dull roar in the background. Tyson heard several voices yelling _Hey Nick, you gonna be on the phone all fucking night, I got a girlfriend to call_.

"I guess you'd better get back to your party," Tyson said, voice forcefully cheerful. "Have fun, dude. I'll see you whenever, right?"

"Okay. Okay, Ty, yeah. See you, buddy," and then the line went dead.

Nick didn't call again for three weeks, and Tyson gave up waiting. He dragged his heels to school and back, did his homework, played with Bailey, and put up with his mom feeling his forehead every morning to check for a temperature. "You look sick," she kept saying.

"I feel fine, Mom," he kept replying. "I gotta go, I'll see you tonight."

His dad met him after school one day. "Tyson," he began when he saw him, "your mother called."

"Is she okay?" Tyson almost dropped his bag.

"She's fine, it's alright. She's just worried about you." He looked at him carefully. "She's right, you do look sick."

"I'm _fine_," Tyson insisted, pushing past him to carry on walking.

Tim kept up with him. They walked in silence for a minute. "Look, I could do with some help at work, figured I'd ask you first. Could be good, some money coming in, give you your first job, something to put on your resume. How about it?"

"Yeah, alright," Tyson shrugged.

"Thanks." Tim checked his watch. "I have to get back, I just wanted to. You're really okay?"

"I _told_ you, I'm fine."

"Well. Start on Monday, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you then."

Tyson only had to wait five minutes for his bus to arrive, these days. He climbed onto it, found a seat, and stared absently out of the window. Cars passed, buildings went by, and his eyes unfocused. Two Fords and a Toyota overtook the bus; the information made it half way to Tyson's brain before giving up.

He stepped off four blocks from his house and started walking, kicking a stone along. He wondered if he should take up soccer. He kicked the stone harder, looking up as he got to his driveway. There was a car in it.

Nick's car.

Tyson stopped, just breathing for a second, staring at the car. He moved around it, looking in the windows. There was no one in the front seat. He looked again, and saw a knee in the back.

He peered. Nick was lying across the back seat, one leg bent, arm flung over his eyes. Tyson yanked the door open and crawled in on top of him.

"What – Ty?" Nick moved his arm. His eyes had dark circles under them, and his cheeks were pale.

"Nick, what the fuck, what are you _doing here_?" Tyson hit him in the thigh. "You fucking _jerk_, I thought you were – jesus, Wheeler."

"I didn't sleep last night," Nick said. He was speaking kind of slowly. "Can I nap at your place?"

"Nick. Nick." Tyson took Nick's cheeks in his hands and looked down at him. "What are you doing here? It's Thursday, why aren't you at _school_?"

"I got my tyres fixed," he said, snaking his tongue out to lick his lips. "I got. Ty, there was. So much drinking. And. And all these _guys_ and I couldn't _call you_ because they'd be like, hey, what's so special about this kid you keep hanging on, and I'd have to make some shit up, but they kept _giving me drinks_ and I haven't seen you for a month and I am starting not to fucking care if they – dude, this kid, last year, he had this boyfriend, and they took both of them to this fucking _field_ and left them for _dead_ and this guy, he was in hospital for – fuck, Ty, I can't stand it, I gotta – I gotta sleep, I gotta."

"Nick, Nick, shit, Nick." Tyson leaned their foreheads together. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."

"I fucking left college for you, Ty, I'm not gonna. Fuck, if I don't sleep soon I might start crying like a little girl, they would have."

"It's okay, it's okay Nick," Tyson breathed, "it's okay," and he kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks. He softly took each of Nick's lips between his own in turn and kissed them. "Fuck, I've missed you."

Nick exhaled, like he'd held all the breath in his chest for a month. "Ty," was all he said.

"Come on. You can sleep, but you have to get out of this car, okay? Come inside."

Tyson led him, blinking and stumbling, inside the house and up the stairs. He pulled his shirt and pants off and pushed him under the covers. Nick smiled at him, eyes already closed. "It'll be okay, right?" he said, voice trailing off.

Tyson yanked his own shirt off and slid into the bed next to him, curled around. "Baby, it'll be fine," he whispered, but Nick was already asleep.

An hour later, Tyson heard footsteps thumping up the stairs and prayed, silently, that nobody would come into his room. There was a soft knock at his door and his mother's voice called, "Tyson? You home, honey?"

"Yeah, Mom," he called back, as quietly as he could. Nick didn't even move.

The door opened, and Tyson closed his eyes, wishing _hard_ that when he opened them, she wouldn't be there. "Oh," he heard, and looked. She was standing, looking at him and Nick, and she was just smiling. "I thought he might be here," she whispered. "His mom called me, he disappeared this morning. She was worried he hadn't shown up, is all."

"Yeah, he -" Tyson carefully rolled away, rearranging Nick's limbs, and got out of bed, pulling her out into the hall and closing the door softly. "He was living in that frat house, Mom, and he heard about – there was this kid, he almost got killed, I think it scared him."

"Ah." She nodded. "I'll let his mother know he's safe."

"Mom," Tyson said, quiet. "Did you know?"

She looked at him, fond. "I'm your mother, sweetheart," was all she said, and he heard her go back down the stairs and tell Bailey to be quiet, their guest was sleeping.

Nick made a snuffling sound when Tyson slid back into the bed, but he just said, "Sshh," and Nick settled again, one arm slung over Tyson's waist. "See," Tyson whispered into his hair, "it'll all be okay."

"I know," Nick mumbled, lips partly stuck together. "Sorry for freaking out on you, man."

"It's alright," Tyson smiled, kissing his hair. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," Nick exhaled.

::~::

"Mom, I'm home," Tyson called, dumping his bag in the kitchen and grabbing a cookie out of the jar.

"I'm with Bailey in the den," he heard, so he jogged up the stairs and into his room.

Nick was lying in his bed, reading a book. "This dude is crazy," he said, looking up. "There's something about space monkeys and bombs, I don't even know what."

Tyson blinked. "I walked into the right house, right?" He sat on the bed, Nick shifting over to make room.

"I went to get breakfast, your mom said I could stay." He shrugged. "My folks knew I was here last night, they don't mind either."

Tyson paused, got up, and wedged a chair under the door handle. He yanked his shirt off and said, "Make some room, baby," and dropped his pants.

Nick cracked up, pulling the covers back. Tyson crawled in, settled up against him. "Well hello there," Nick smiled. "How was your day?"

Tyson propped his head up on one hand, sliding a knee between Nick's thighs. "Improving," he grinned. "Started off pretty nice, woke up with my boyfriend. There was some school in the middle, but other than that, pretty sweet."

"Ah, junior year." Nick sounded fond. "Sweet memories. Though mostly, it sucked."

"I wouldn't say it was so bad," Tyson shrugged.

"Yeah, but I had this stupid crush on this _guy_," Nick waved a hand, "and he kept, y'know, being _cute_ and all. I was very frustrated."

Tyson rolled them over, settling on top. "How do you think _I_ felt?"

"We can make up for it now, though, right?" Nick grinned.

"Mmhmm, totally." Tyson ground down, pleasant friction. "So hey, you wanna maybe try out some of those things we were talking about?"

"Mm, didn't we say we'd try those on your birthday?"

"It's yours in two days," Tyson said, nudging their noses together. "What do you want for it?"

Nick bit his lip. "Maybe, uh. Yeah. The handcuffs?"

"Wanna try those now? We'll have to be quiet, but."

Nick's breathing went shallow. "They're going out," he said, "in about." He checked his watch. "Any minute. Your mom told me earlier, it's Bailey's ballet class."

Tyson kissed him, trailing his hands over his hips. "Perfect," he murmured. "You want to?"

Nick started nodding, and then he said, "I want to," and he kept nodding. Tyson laughed, soft.

"Okay, I get the picture, the answer is yes." Nick stopped nodding and just stared at him. "What?"

"Dude."

Tyson smiled. "I know. Ahh," he exhaled as he shifted over to open the drawer, "this is the life. I wake up with you, I come home from school and you're already in bed, and _then_," he held up a pair of furry handcuffs, "we play with toys."

"Tyson, Nick," a voice came up the stairs, "we're going out."

"Okay, see you later, Ma," Tyson called back. He was still holding the handcuffs. He heard the front door close, and rummaged in the drawer for the lube. "How do you want it?" he asked, grabbing for a bottle.

"I, uh." Nick shifted, pushed up against him. "I like this, I want it this way."

Tyson smiled, kissed him, and murmured, "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded, "I like it when you do that."

"I like it when I do that, too," Tyson breathed, unscrewing the cap of the lube bottle and slathering his hands up. "Want to do me while I do you?"

"Alright." Nick held his palms out, and Tyson poured some lube onto them. He gently nudged Nick's legs apart and slid slick fingers into him, going softly. Nick arched up, groaning. "I, yeah." He huffed a breath out. "That always," but Tyson pushed in again and Nick's voice trailed off. "Uhnh," he added.

He reached for Tyson's cock, wrapping both palms around it to slick it. "Shit, yeah," Tyson nodded, adding a third finger and crooking them, making Nick pant. The only sounds they made for a minute were breaths, hands working. _This is_, Tyson tried to think, but didn't get any further.

"You ready?" Nick asked at last, breathless. Tyson nodded. "So'm I."

"Alright." Tyson removed his fingers, and Nick whimpered. He picked up the handcuffs, and Tyson gently cuffed one of his wrists. "That okay?" he asked, watching Nick's face.

"Yeah, I – yeah, it feels nice." Nick shifted, raising both arms above his head. Tyson looped the chain over a slat in the headboard and cuffed Nick's other wrist.

"Still alright?" he asked. Nick tested the bonds, and nodded. "Okay." Tyson smiled, half his mouth curling upwards. "Spread 'em, Wheeler."

Nick obligingly parted his thighs, and Tyson positioned himself carefully. He pushed in, concentrating on going slowly at first; Nick moaned and arched his back, trying to simultaneously thrust up, and Tyson dipped his head to lick just under Nick's jaw. Nick strained at the handcuffs, panting, "Shit, Ty, _yeah_," bucking upwards.

"God, you can never keep still," Tyson exhaled, pulling out a little and thrusting back in, harder. Nick groaned and wrapped one leg around Tyson's waist. "Fuck, _Nick_," and he buried his face in Nick's neck, licking, sucking on the skin.

"Fuck, Ty," Nick panted, reverberations in his chest, Tyson could feel them. "Fuck, fuck, _Ty_." Tyson groaned, slamming in harder, and Nick whimpered in his throat, tilting his hips up. Tyson wrapped both hands around Nick's cock, sudden, and pulled softly; Nick opened his mouth and moaned, loud, "Ty, Ty, Ty, _fuck, Ty_." He squirmed, pushing up, rocking his hips, and Tyson squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Nick, if you keep that up I'm gonna." Nick moaned and bucked again, and Tyson bit down softly on his shoulder and came, shuddering into him. Nick arched his back again, coming with one movement.

Tyson examined his palms. He licked them, keeping his eyes on Nick as he sucked each finger in turn, and then wriggled downwards to lick at Nick's stomach, long swathes with his tongue. Nick made small whimpering sounds at each swipe.

"Untie me?" he asked, voice hoarse, when Tyson had finished cleaning him up.

"Sorry." He gently undid the cuffs, rubbing Nick's upper arms as he lowered them. "What did you, were the handcuffs okay?"

Nick wrapped his arms around Tyson and murmured, "Fuck yeah, they were okay."

Tyson nuzzled his cheek with his nose. "Okay, good, yeah."

::~::

"So," Tyson said, "Homecoming's soon."

"Yeah?" Nick looked up from where he was lying, head on Tyson's chest. Tyson ran his fingers through Nick's hair.

"Yeah. I was thinking, maybe we could ask the principal if we can play it."

Nick nodded. "Good idea." He settled back and let his breath out.

"And hey, that way I could take you to it," Tyson pointed out. Nick looked up at him again.

"What, you mean like, _take me_ to Homecoming?"

"Sure, I mean – if we're one of the bands, and you're there with me, it's not. It doesn't have to be, like, a _big thing_ from the outside," he shrugged. "But it still means I get to go with you. So."

"Okay." Nick kissed his chest and settled again.

"Yeah?" Tyson played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah." Nick nuzzled closer, tangling their legs. "Can we just, nap now? Then I want to suck you off again. Then maybe some more practice."

"I love weekends," Tyson grinned.

He stared into the mirror, the night of the Homecoming dance. He kept trying to adjust his tie, but it just wouldn't _sit right_.

"Hey, you want some help with that?" he heard Nick's voice in the doorway. He turned, ready to say _Yeah, please_, but the sound died in his throat. "What?" Nick shifted, awkward. "What?"

"Um." Tyson waved a hand at Nick's tux. "Woah."

Nick looked down. "What? Do I have something on my pants?"

"You're gonna have something _in_ your pants," Tyson said, sidling closer. "Jesus, Nick, you look amazing in that."

Nick blushed. "Look who's talking," he said, adjusting Tyson's tie, not looking him in the eye. "There," he said, standing back and looking Tyson up and down. "Perfect," he sighed.

Tyson pulled him in by the waist. "There might be a problem with tonight," he said, closing his eyes as Nick leaned closer.

"What?" Nick asked.

"I," Tyson breathed, "am going to have some trouble," he moved his hands to Nick's hips, "keeping these off you."

"Don't get us arrested," Nick smiled.

"I'll try my hardest."

They got to the dance early enough to check the sound system, Nick making sure the keyboards were programmed with the right set. Tyson tested out the microphone, sneaking glances over as Nick worked. They weren't due to start playing for a little while, so they cleared the way for the first band to set up. They stood in a corner, watching everyone trickling in. "The ants go marching two by two," Nick sang under his breath. "Hurrah, hurrah."

"Okay, you gotta stop being so cute in public," Tyson murmured.

"I'm not doing anything!" Nick protested. Tyson waved a hand at him.

"You were singing," he said. "It was cute," he added as Nick shook his head.

"You're crazy," he laughed.

"Yeah, about _you_," he returned, exaggerated wink. Nick laughed again.

They took to the stage an hour and a half later. Nick started up the keyboards, and Tyson tapped on the microphone.

"So how's everybody doing?" he asked the room. "We are The All-American Rejects, and you can see us at Mike's College Bar whenever there are flyers up. Keep a look out, okay?" There was a small cheer from one side of the room. "Alright, thanks Andrew," Tyson grinned. "And now, we are going to sing a song for all you lovers out there. Take it away, Nick." Nick played the opening notes of the first song, and two bars later Tyson began playing his bass part. "Last night I was blown away," he sang. Nick caught his eye and Tyson forgot to look away until he sang, "Got to get me some of your chemistry."

Nick sang, "Oh-ohh."

"You want me to," Tyson sang.

"Oh-ohh," Nick looked back down at his guitar.

"Promise you that everything is true."

Two songs later, Tyson noticed most of the room were dancing. "Alright," he said as that song ended, "we've got a slow one now, so grab a partner and sway." Nick played the opening bars, soft guitar sounds instead of piano. "Look into my eyes," Tyson sang, "you will see what you mean to me. Look into your heart, you will find there's nothing there to hide." He glanced over at Nick, who was smiling softly at him. "Search your heart," Tyson sang, unable to take his eyes away, "search your soul and when you find me there you'll search no more."

Nick blushed and looked back down at his guitar.

When Tyson sang, "Don't tell me it's not worth fighting for," he couldn't stop his voice going soft, and he gazed over at Nick, who was watching his fret board. "I can't help it, there's nothing I want more." Nick looked up and Tyson watched his eyes as he sang, "You know it's true, everything I do," and he leaned closer a few inches, "I do it for you."

Nick smiled down at the strings, and Tyson remembered to look away.

At the end of the set, Tyson said into the microphone in his best showman voice, "Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience, have a great rest of the night." He and Nick picked up their guitars and left, Nick grabbing the keyboards on the way off the stage. "So hey," Tyson said as they made their way to the orchestra room to pack up the instruments, "wanna see if we can sneak onto the roof? The janitor can get us up there."

"Sure," Nick nodded, snapping his guitar case closed. He pulled his tie off and undid the top button on his shirt. "Kinda feel like I'm choking," he sighed, flinging the tie into a corner.

Tyson adjusted his. "I just feel like James Bond," he said, pulling what he meant to be a suave face. "Double-oh seven, baby."

Nick laughed. "Come on, you doofus. Use those secret agent skills to get us up top."

The night air was cool, and somebody must have opened some of the gym windows, because the music was loud enough to be heard clearly. A new song started up on the speakers, and Tyson swept Nick's hand into his, placing his other on his waist. "Care to dance?"

"Why yes, I would," Nick smiled, putting his arm around Tyson's waist. They moved together, slow, as Celine Dion proclaimed that her heart would go on in the gym below.

Tyson dipped him, and Nick laughed. He broke away to twirl, and joined their hands again, a closed circuit. Tyson huffed out laughter and pulled him closer. The breeze lifted their hair off their foreheads, and their movements slowed. Laughter subsiding, Nick just leaned in, wrapping both arms around Tyson's waist and laying his head on his chest, exhaling a sigh. Tyson stroked tiny circles on his back, and Nick sighed again. He leaned up to look at Tyson, and they both opened their mouths at the same time and said, "I love you."

Nick blushed. "Uh."

Tyson just leaned closer, edging Nick's mouth towards his. "I love you, Nick," he repeated, and kissed him softly. Just lips, just touch, just right. "I love you."

Nick made a soft sound in his throat and surged closer, kissing him back. "I love you too," he breathed. They stilled, the breeze still playing with the edges of their jackets as they stood, kissing, slowly winding their arms around each other.

The song ended, and another began. "We don't have to go back inside yet, right?" Tyson whispered.

"No," Nick replied, running his fingers through Tyson's hair. "We can stay out here awhile."

"Okay," Tyson smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.

::~::

"So Ty," Nick said, a few weeks later, "we kind of have to write more songs, right? I mean. We don't really have an album's worth."

"Yeah, we decided not to use Mindy, right?"

"Ty. You wrote a song about me, and called me _Lindy_. And we are _not_ using Pillsbury fucking Doughgirl."

"Oh come on! Oh, I'm sorry baby," he notched the timbre of his voice up and lisped. "You just need a tay-uhn."

"I don't know whether to laugh or punch you," Nick shook his head. "But we're not using it."

"I know. We've got, what – four songs from the demo?"

"Yeah, and two more so far."

Tyson looked at the pages they had spread out on the bed. "So that's six. We need probably about another five."

Nick nodded. "We should probably, like. Hm."

"You know, I ran here today, got a few notes stuck in my head," Tyson said, thoughtful. "I could try doing that more, have some time like, just _away_, you know? That's what we need."

"You're right, yeah. It's kind of." Nick looked around at the walls of his bedroom. "I mean, here, it's just, this is our _life_, it'd be good if we could go somewhere. Anywhere, and just write."

"My grandparents have this cabin, by a lake. I could ask if we can use it, see if that helps."

"Yeah, that'd be _awesome_," Nick nodded.

"Want to work with me on the notes I got today?" Tyson asked, picking up a guitar. "See, they went like this," he played a sequence, "and then like this."

"Yeah," Nick listened, and began strumming a few chords. "How about," and he played the chords again, surer, "and," and picked out the tune Tyson had played on the strings.

"Hey yeah, I like that," Tyson nodded. He played a few more notes, then Nick's chords. "Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Nick picked up the pattern, adding a few extra notes on the third round of chords.

Tyson stopped. "Okay, keep playing that, I just got." He grabbed a pad and pencil and started scribbling down words as Nick played a few other chords and tried out patterns.

One of the leaves from the tree outside Tyson's window landed on the roof of Nick's car when they piled bags into its trunk. "Mind the guitars," Nick reminded Randy, who was helping them load up.

"You know the way, right?" he asked, hefting another duffel in.

"Yeah, Ty's got directions, he'll help me out. Thanks, by the way."

"You're welcome." Randy closed the trunk and patted it. "Have fun, boys."

"Thanks, we will," Tyson called, jumping into the passenger seat. "Ready, Nicky?"

"You betcha, Ty." Nick slipped his sunglasses on and sat behind the steering wheel.

Tyson started the stereo up, and the opening notes of _Always_ blasted out. Nick pulled out of the driveway and started off down the street. "You see, I've always been a fighter," Tyson sang along with the stereo.

Nick joined in, "But without you, I give up."

Tyson wound down his window to belt out the chorus. He turned to Nick, whose mouth was stretched into an elastic grin, like laughter shaped into a facial expression, and sang to him, "I'll be there until the stars don't shine, until the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme, I know when I die you'll be on my mind, and I'll love you always."

Nick kept his eyes on the road, but he was beaming and he turned his head now and then to watch Tyson.

They got to the cabin as the sun was setting, and took everything inside in several trips. Tyson passed Nick to grab the last of the bags and patted his ass; Nick jumped, and looked at him. "What?" Tyson grinned. "There's no one to see."

Nick blinked, then dropped his bags and moved closer. "You're _right_," he said, smile spreading. "There's no one to see _or_ hear."

"Mmm," Tyson leaned into him. "What did you have in mind?"

Nick kissed his earlobe and murmured, "What did you bring?"

"Nothing fancy," Tyson sighed. "Just like, _a lot_ of lube."

"Hell, that's good enough for me." Nick looped his arms around Tyson's waist. Tyson leaned back against him. "Come on," Nick said after a moment where they just, stood. "Bring the rest of the shit inside, we can get started."

"Mmm-hm-mm," half of Tyson's top lip curled up in a smile. "What did you have in mind?" he repeated.

"Bring that stuff inside and you'll find out," Nick winked, and grabbed the guitar cases, sashaying into the cabin. Tyson watched him go, tilting his head to get the best view of Nick's ass, and then grabbed the last of the bags, locking the trunk as he went.

Nick took the bags from him when he got inside. Tyson closed the door, and then felt hands on his hips, turning him around. "Well hi," he grinned as he turned to face Nick, sliding his arms over his shoulders. "Did you want something?"

"Maybe," Nick grinned, leaning in. He kissed Tyson, soft press and push and just a little tongue, and Tyson groaned. Nick walked him, backwards, up against the door, and Tyson bunched his hands in Nick's hair, sighing through his nose and kissing back.

Nick sank, slowly, to his knees, unzipping Tyson's jeans as he went. "Was this what you had in mind?" he asked, looking down at Nick looking back up at him, eyes dark.

"To start," Nick nodded, and Tyson shivered a little. Nick yanked his jeans down and Tyson felt them pool around his ankles; Nick leaned forward and took Tyson's already hard cock into his mouth, sucking softly. Tyson groaned and tangled his hands back in Nick's hair.

"Nick," he breathed, and it felt warm and wet and so _good_ and Nick kept his eyes locked on Tyson's as he sucked, wrapped one hand around the base, and used his other hand to stroke Tyson's thighs. "Shit, fuck, Nick," Tyson panted, wanting _so hard_ to throw his head back, unable to move or take his eyes off Nick's. He was _watching_ Tyson, intent, and Tyson could hardly breathe. He groaned as Nick's tongue swirled, as he twisted his wrist and lapped, fucking _lapped_, and that was it, Tyson was gone. He came with a twitch of his hips and a moan that sounded like, "_Niiick_."

Nick sat back on his heels and swallowed, bit by bit. "I love doing that," he grinned. "Keep your pants off," he added, "I've got plans."

Tyson groaned. "We _are_ going to write this weekend, right?" he asked, stepping out of his shoes. "Not that I'd _mind_ if we didn't," he added quickly, "I just, y'know, the label might."

"Sure, yeah, we'll write. But we only just got here." Nick grinned. "Didn't you say there was a hot tub?"

Tyson kissed him, hard. "I fucking love your plans," he said.

::~::

"Hey so, my mom said to invite you over tomorrow," Nick said, as Tyson was changing the video. "It's Christmas Eve, I know, but she said like, we'd have dinner and you're invited. Is that okay?"

"Let me ask my folks." Tyson called, "Mom? Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, honey, what is it?"

He stood up and picked his way over to the door, calling towards the kitchen, "Nick's mom invited me for dinner tomorrow night, is that alright?"

"Yes, Tyson, that's fine."

"Thanks, Ma." He made his way back through the debris of two days of movie marathoning. "What's next?"

"Muppet Christmas Carol," Nick pointed to the box. "And don't change the words this time."

"Hey, the Ghost of Christmas Present was _way_ funnier when I sang it," Tyson protested, fast-forwarding to get to the start of the movie.

"You don't mess with a classic," Nick insisted. Tyson settled back onto the couch, their bodies curled inwards. Nick slung his legs over Tyson's thighs and leaned their heads together, watching, comfortable. Tyson put both arms around Nick's middle and hugged him closer.

"When the cold wind blows it chills you, chills you to the bone," Tyson sang along under his breath when the first number started.

"But there's nothing in nature that freezes your heart like years of being alone," Nick sang back. Tyson prepared to harmonise on "There goes Mister Humbug".

Tyson showed up the next day at Nick's, a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine clutched under his arm. He rang the doorbell at the back door, and Nick's head appeared in the window above. "It's open," he called, and Tyson pushed the door and went inside.

Nick met him on the stairs and kissed his cheek. "Are these okay?" Tyson showed him the flowers. "I mean, your mom's a _florist_, but I wanted to get her something, and -"

"Yeah, they're fine, they're fine. Listen. Your mom's here too."

"What?" But by this time, they'd reached the door to the dining room and Nick was leading him inside. "Hi Mrs Wheeler," Tyson handed her the flowers and wine. "These are for you."

"Oh thank you, Tyson," she beamed, gesturing for him to sit down. "I'll just put these in water."

"Uh, hi Mom," Tyson said, sitting awkwardly between her and Nick. "I didn't know you'd be here too."

"Surprise," she grinned. "We sort of had this planned for you boys."

Nick and Tyson glanced at each other. "Had what planned?" Tyson asked, just as Mrs Wheeler reappeared.

Tyson's mother beamed at her. "Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"

"Why don't we both?" Mrs Wheeler smiled back. "Nick," she said, "Tyson, we have a Christmas present for you."

"But it's only Christmas Eve," Tyson muttered as Mrs Wheeler handed Nick an envelope. He looked at Tyson, who motioned for him to open it.

Nick did, and pulled out a card. He read it, eyes widening by the second, and stared at their mothers. "No," he said. "No _way_."

"Yes," Mrs Wheeler laughed as Tyson took the card from Nick's hand.

"What's it say?" he asked, eyes skating over the words. He stopped, and read them twice before taking them all in.

_Your Christmas present is one (1) house, with first month's rent payed. The lease begins in March. Merry Christmas, boys._

"But – you're giving us a _house_?" Tyson asked, once his jaw worked again.

"We're starting you up," his mother explained. "We'll pay the first month's rent, that's your Christmas gift, on the condition that you two will pay the rent after that."

"You're recording in February, right?" Mrs Wheeler asked. Nick nodded, mute. "Well, we thought you'd probably want a place of your own after that, somewhere to tour out of, you wouldn't want to be coming home to here all the time. We found a nice place you should be able to afford."

Nick just looked at her. "How, exactly, did you do that?"

"There might have been a few favours called in," she admitted.

Tyson stared at Nick. "Our own place," he said, soft.

"Listen, I could do with a little help in the kitchen," Mrs Wheeler cleared her throat.

Tyson's mother stood. "I'll help you with that. Stay here, boys," she said, and they left.

Nick turned to Tyson. "Um," he said. "Wow."

"They're giving us a place," Tyson repeated, picking up the card and putting it back down again. "I mean, they – they found it or whatever." He paused, looking at Nick. "Is that okay with you? I mean, is it – is that what you want?"

"What, our own place, no parents and shit? Hell yeah," Nick nodded.

"We've got a van. We've got a _house_." Tyson tapped the card. "Are you really – I mean, this is kind of huge. You know?"

"Yeah. Are _you_ okay with this? I mean, is it freaking you out?"

Tyson paused, thinking about it, and found that it wasn't. "No, I'm actually pretty okay. You?"

"Yeah, me too. I mean. We tour together already, it's not like anything's gonna be _different_, it'll be like sleeping in the van. Except, our own bed."

Tyson grinned. "We can get a _big_ bed."

"With _room_ in it," Nick matched his grin.

"No more cramps!" Tyson cried, flinging his arms above his head. "_Awesome_."

"Is everything alright in there?" Mrs Wheeler called.

"Yeah Ma, we're just happy," Nick called back.

Tyson leaned closer to kiss him. "We are," he murmured, not noticing their mothers had returned until his tapped him on the back.

"Yes, thank you, you're with company now," she reminded them. Nick blushed.

"Sorry." Tyson sat back and noticed that there was now food on the table. "This smells _delicious_," he added, and passed Nick the potatoes.

::~::

"Headlong," Tyson sang, loud, the windows of the van rolled down despite the cold, "down the highway, and you're rushing _headlong_," he belted, "out of control, and you think you're _so strong_, but there ain't no stopping and you can't stop rocking and there's nothing you can nothing you can nothing you can do about it. Take it away, Nick baby," he yelled, taking one hand off the steering wheel to point at Nick, who started playing air guitar along with the solo.

"This song fucking _rocks_," Nick yelled over the music, fingers skating over an imaginary fret board.

By the time their tape collection cycled back around to Bon Jovi, it was late and Tyson started looking for a place to stop the van for the night. _And I'll be there forever and a day_, the stereo played. Nick yawned and started singing along, softly.

"If you told me to cry for you, I could. If you told me to die for you, I would. Take a look at my face, there's no price I won't pay to say these words to you."

"You really like this song, huh?" Tyson smiled.

"Dude, it's Bon Jovi," was all Nick said.

Something suddenly slotted into place in Tyson's brain, and he started laughing. "You," he tried. "You."

"What?"

"You," Tyson wheezed, "you _totally have a huge crush on Jon Bon Jovi_, don't you?"

It was dark and Tyson was mostly watching the road, but he could practically see Nick's blush reflected in the windscreen. He laughed harder.

"You _totally do_," he reached over to poke Nick's side, and Nick swatted his hand away. "Oh, oh dude, that'd be so hot." He swallowed another laugh, hiccupping on it. "Oh man. You and Jon? That'd be like." His chest had stopped convulsing with laughter now, and he made an expansive gesture. "_Nuclear_ levels of hot, dude. Wow."

Nick groaned, covering his eyes with one hand.

"Dude, no seriously, if we ever meet him, you have a get out of jail free thing," Tyson continued. "As long as I could watch."

"Ty, are you _trying_ to kill me?"

"_Seriously_, dude, that is something I want to see. You with Jon Bon Jovi. Man." Tyson shook his head, and Nick hit him in the thigh. "Hey, watch it! That was a little close to the family jewels."

"Shut the fuck up, Ty," Nick said. He was still bright red.

"Man, I could fry eggs on your face," Tyson grinned at him. He paused. "You seriously have a huge crush on him? Like, huge _crushing_."

"_Yeah_, okay, who doesn't?" Nick shifted in his seat. "He's fucking hot, Ty."

"Hey, dude, I ain't arguing," Tyson held one hand up, keeping the other on the steering wheel. "Are you okay?" he added.

"I'll be fine," Nick answered, cheeks still flaming. "Just give me a minute."

Tyson patted his knee. "That was a little intense, there. Something you want to tell me?"

"There's a place over there you could park the van," Nick pointed. Tyson maneuvered into it, concentrating for a few minutes until he pulled on the hand break and killed the engine.

"That wasn't what I meant, but okay." He yawned. "Wanna go to bed?"

Nick undid his seatbelt and sprawled over Tyson's chest. "You," he said, "are going to get laid."

Tyson's eyes widened. "Well _alright_ then," he grinned, unbuckling his own seatbelt and following as Nick crawled into the back of the van. They climbed over equipment and jumped down into the space they had cleared in the middle, a bundle of shirts for pillows and a huge blanket to cover them.

Nick reached between two amps and pulled out Tyson's handcuffs. "These," he said, turning over to face Tyson, "I want you to use these. And I want to fuck you."

"Alright, okay, yeah," Tyson nodded, taking them, pulling his shirt off over his head. Nick yanked his own off, and reached for Tyson's pants.

When they were both ready, good and slick, Tyson cuffed Nick's wrists above his head, and Nick looked up at him, eyes heavy and dark, and said, "Now ride me."

Tyson groaned and obeyed, sinking onto Nick's cock slowly. Nick arched his neck up and balled his hands into fists above the handcuffs. Tyson leaned over him, dipped his head down to lick and suck at Nick's neck, and Nick moaned. Tyson felt the vibrations with his tongue, one hand wrapping around his own cock, riding Nick's with undulating movements. He nuzzled their noses together and breathed, "Fuck, Nick, I don't ever want to stop doing this."

"Fuck, me neither, Ty, don't stop, don't _stop_," Nick moaned, eyes closed, head tilted back, and Tyson licked a line up his neck and nibbled at his earlobe. Nick groaned again, a high sound, thrusting up into Tyson. He moved his knee, bent it further, changing the angle of his cock, and Tyson went still.

"Holy fucking shit," he gasped, pushing down slowly. "Fuck, do that again."

Nick thrust upwards at the same angle, and Tyson whimpered.

"_Nick_," he panted, as Nick began thrusting upwards in rhythm, keeping the angle, locking his eyes onto Tyson's. Tyson groaned, long and loud, and Nick pushed up _hard_, once, twice, and then Tyson came, yelping, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck _Nick_."

Nick whined, high in the back of his throat, and pushed up one last time, coming with a long wordless moan. "Oh fuck, Ty," he exhaled as he settled his back onto the floor again.

Tyson uncuffed his wrists as soon as he regained the use of his muscles. "Jesus, Nick," he panted. He rolled off him, lying down carefully.

They curled around each other, finding the spaces they had spent nearly two years discovering they fit perfectly in. Tyson felt warm, all over, and pulled the blanket over them.

"I love you," he said, kissing Nick's hair.

"I love you too," Nick smiled, nuzzling even closer. Tyson wondered if one day their skin would just adhere and not come apart. _Maybe we should make sure we're never this close and naked in like, Australia. Just in case._

"We should get to New York tomorrow," he said, after a couple of minutes of silence, and mostly because Nick's eyes were closed and he wanted to know if he was asleep yet.

"Yeah," Nick nodded, and he sounded awake still. Tyson closed his eyes.

"Think we'll go somewhere with this?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Nick whispered back. Tyson felt movement, then Nick brushed their noses together. Tyson opened his eyes to see Nick gazing at him, smiling more with his eyes than his mouth. "But I'll be here."

And in the dark, in a cramped van just off some highway somewhere on the road to New York, in the middle of the night and on the brink of sleep, Tyson felt like maybe, just maybe, this could be their lives, that they could do this. It could be it for them. So he kissed Nick, watched him settle back against his chest, and whispered, "Yeah. Me too."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [While I'm Alive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/69492) by [fizzyblogic (phizzle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic)




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